


Three Hour Minimum

by sadthespian



Series: Down These Mean Streets [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves Needs Help, Klaus Hargreeves-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21938863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadthespian/pseuds/sadthespian
Summary: Against Ben's warnings, Klaus hustles his way into a warm motel room.
Series: Down These Mean Streets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579744
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	Three Hour Minimum

Klaus could see his breath appear in clouds of condensation as he stood on the bustling city street. He flexed his long, thin fingers, which were stinging from the bitter cold. It was his fifth winter on the streets. His last winter out in the urban wild had been surprisingly mild, but it seemed like whatever forces dictated the temperature was making up for it this season. 

He rubbed his hands together and cupped them over his mouth to exhale, but it was in vain. After all, how warm could he really get in his leather pants, cropped black shirt, and patchwork coat? But they were all he had. When his last fling kicked him out the bastard refused to let him back in to get his belongings. When he returned the next day, he found out they had been thrown out and picked up the early hours by the garbage truck. It wasn’t like he had much – a few extra thin shirts, a pair of skinny jeans, some rather flamboyant undergarments, but they had been his. All he had now were the clothes on his back and the same wallet he’d had since he was 12, which was currently empty except for his non-driving I.D and bus pass. 

“The shelter closes in a half hour,” a familiar voice said flatly from his left. 

Ben seemed warm enough in his jeans and hoodie/leather jacket combo. There was also the fact that he was dead. 

“Good to know,” Klaus said distantly. He knew his brother was trying to be helpful, but he had no intention of sleeping at a shelter tonight. Every one he qualified for in a 50 mile radius knew him and what he usually carried in his pockets. He wasn’t about to give up his current stash – 2 Vyvanse capsules, 4 Xanax bars, half a joint, and a green Molly pill with a skull and crossbones imprinted on it. 

No, he was on this street for a reason – and Ben knew it. A couple of other guys around his age also stood their ground. It was cruising territory. Klaus was rusty, but he mentally assured himself it was like riding a bike. It would have been easier without his personal Jiminy Cricket there, however, he’d learned how to tune his brother out a long time ago. 

“If you get caught, they’ll send you back,” Ben said, this time with a bit more urgency. 

“If I get caught,” Klaus retorted with a wink. 

In all honestly that thought had crossed his mind, but what choice did he have? He was eight months out of prison officially classified as a felon. If his prospects had been grim before prison, they were absolutely hopeless now. His stoned faced, balding probation officer made that pretty clear. Even if he filled out a job application, he would always have to check off that lovely little box asking about his criminal history. Knowing he wouldn’t hesitate to lie, the officer explained its purpose. Besides informing the potential employer of his past it also ensured he wouldn’t work the same shift as another felon, which could land him back in jail. Gotta love America. 

He didn’t regret the act dealing drugs – just getting caught. With his wealth of industry knowledge and self-proclaimed boyish charm he had quite a lucrative racket going on. The distributors loved him. Not enough to protect him from a bust, though. It was his first conviction, but the judge wanted to make an example out of him – especially considering who he was. His public defender told him he had never seen that many reporters show up to a drug trafficking/distribution trial. It was yet another perk of being an ex-member of The Umbrella Academy. News outlets looking for a scoop jumped at the chance of writing long-winded retrospectives on the downfall of Reginald Hargreeves’ wayward adopted son. Vanya’s book came out a few months prior, so they were still a revived commodity. It was perfect timing as far as the news cycle considered. 

Thanks, sis, he thought bitterly when the judge sentenced him to 5 years in prison. However, his celebrity had also been his saving grace. He was released after 13 months on good behavior. According to his probation officer, the judge on the parole board had a son who died overseas. The boy grew up collecting The Umbrella Academy comics and memorabilia. Although Luther had been his favorite – what else was new? – the man apparently saw Klaus’ case on his docket as a sign. It was the luckiest break Klaus had or probably would ever get. The minute he stepped foot behind bars he doubted he’d last a day let alone five years. Celebrity and luck saved his life. 

So maybe Ben had a point. Still, one night couldn’t hurt, right? If he played his cards right he could get a couple hundred dollars and a night in a motel room. He’d figure out his next move tomorrow. One day at a time. 

“You could call one of them,” Ben said quietly. Something in his voice suggested he already knew his words were in vain. 

“Oh sure, that would go over well,” Klaus scoffed. Dramatically, he mimed a phone with his hand. “Oh hey, Diego, I know you said not to call you again, but I figured what the hell! Wait, hold on bro, one sec, someone’s on the other line! VANYA! Hey girl, thanks for getting back to me! You’ll let me crash if I give you an interview for your sequel? Hm, I’ll have to check my schedule. Let’s see who else…”

“And you think getting arrested for solicitation is going to mend things?” Ben asked pointedly. 

“I think we both know we’re all past that point,” Klaus said in an uncharacteristically dark tone. He tried not to think about it, but he couldn’t deny it hurt that not one of his siblings came to his trial or visited him while he was incarcerated. Sure, he had fucked up... a lot, but he never completely betrayed them like Vanya or thought he was better than them like Luther. Ben told him they were probably still keeping low profiles after the renewed press from the book. As much as Klaus would have liked that to be the base, he concluded it was wishful thinking. At this point, he wasn’t their brother anymore and he knew it. 

Finally, a car slowed up the street. Even from a mile away Klaus could make out the signature fixture on the hood of the Mercedes. Bingo. He turned around and quickly checked himself out in the dusty window of the decaying building behind him. After tossling his hair a bit, which was getting a little longer than he was used to and starting to curl as it naturally did, he gave himself a thumbs up before turning around a leaning moodily against a streetlight post. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the others nod to the driver as he passed them. Klaus prayed he wouldn’t stop before he got to him. Low and behold, he finally neared. He could see him now. The man had to be in his mid-60s. He drove with his eyes straight ahead, but there was a pained expression on his face like he was daring himself to glance over at the sidewalk. A newbie. Klaus knew the type and he was just what he needed – easy to please and ignorant of street prices. 

“We don’t bite, you know?” he said loud enough so the man would hear him through the window. “At least not for free!” 

Ben sighed and rolled his eyes before walking away in a huff to wherever the hell ghosts went when they weren’t visible to him. 

The car stopped suddenly. Klaus mentally high-fived himself and leaned in on the car. The man was still looking ahead before he nervously directed his eyes at him. He seemed to be frozen in thought. Klaus looked around for any sign of police activity before tapping on the window rhythmically. It seemed to break the guy out of his daze and he opened the window with an automatic switch. 

“Wanna give me a ride?” Klaus asked, regulating his voice to sound less… melodious than usual. In his experience these strait-laced types scared easily if you came on too strong. Subtlety wasn’t exactly his specialty, but he could tone it down when he focused hard enough. 

“Oh. Er, sure. Okay,” the man said nervously with a weak smile. 

Score! Klaus kept his focus and remained nonchalant as he got into the sedan. The warmth of the car covered him like a heavy quilt. God, it felt good. Sitting next to his now-client, he was able to take in his features. His hair was close cropped in a conservative cut. He wore what Klaus had always associated with grandfathers, even though he didn’t have one – a sweater vest, a tie fashioned in a Windsor knot, an ivory button down, and a gray blazer. Wrinkles lined his face in all the typical places – around the eyes, mouth, and across his forehead. His eyes were a bit beady, but there was something both kind and sad about them also. 

“Okay, it’s 100 if you want to blow me, 150 if you want me to blow you and 250 for anything more,” Klaus told him, as if he was reading off a grocery list. 

“Oh, uh, okay,” the man said with a nod, seemingly lost in his thoughts. 

“You can park around the corner – there’s an alley – or there’s a few hourly motels around here,” he explained. 

“I know a motel,” the man said with another weak smile. “The White Water, do you know it?”

“I’ve been there once,” Klaus said, a bit puzzled by the man’s tone. It almost sounded like he was giving him options. 

“Is that okay?” the man asked. Okay, he was giving him options. Klaus was not used to this. 

“Uh, yeah, whatever you want – it’s your money,” he said. What was up with this guy? He was being so… nice. God, he hoped he wasn’t a serial killer or something – overcompensating for the fact that he was going to slit his throat in an hour. He didn’t want to give his father or siblings turning on the news and finding out his remains were found dissolving in a barrel of acid. That’s what they probably expected, after all. 

The man’s breath hitched, but he started to drive. Klaus noticed quickly the man was a very careful driver. He slowed instantly at the sight of a yellow light and signaled early. He also drove one mile under the speed limit to the disdain of a prick in a red convertible who was on his ass for five miles before passing him and making a rude gesture. The last time Klaus drove a car he totaled it. It was one of Reginald’s – a beautiful vintage, white Rolls-Royce. The cops took him in, but he avoided official charges – a perk of still participating in Umbrella Academy missions and living at the mansion. That was the last time his father’s status protected him from the law. 

“So, what’s your name?” the man asked. Something about his voice suggested he was actually interested and not just making small talk. 

“Klaus,” he said, starting to feel uncomfortable. As bombastic as Klaus could be, he preferred to keep business like this impersonal. It was one thing if he sought out a cute guy in a club that he would actually want to date – if you could call his version of a date dating – but a guy like this was just a means to an end. And that end was cash. 

“Ah, Klaus. Are you German?” he asked. 

“Maybe – I don’t know. I was adopted,” Klaus said. He always figured Grace had some insight as to where they were adopted from since she had named them. He remembered Diego asking her once, but she didn’t give a straight answer and they concluded she was programmed not to divulge any information about their birth mothers. Their names were their only clues. 

“Oh, okay. Sorry – I didn’t mean to pry. I just always found names interesting. I’m Henry, by the way. It’s German too… it means ‘ruler of the household,’” the man, Henry, explained.

“It’s fine – most guys just don’t really give a shit what my name means,” Klaus admitted with a hollow laugh.

“The people’s victory,” Henry said. 

“What?” Klaus asked, confused.

“That’s what Klaus means – the people’s victory,” he explained. 

Klaus had to stifle his laughter. He wondered if Reginald knew that. Then again, he still called them by their numbers, so it wasn’t like he accepted their “names.”

“Well, you learn something new every day,” he smiled, still holding back the urge to burst into full blown laughter. 

“We’re almost there. It’s the next left,” Henry said. Klaus could sense his nerves. He could tell this was going to be a cake walk. This guy wasn’t a serial killer – he was just a closeted old man who was probably stuck with a family looking for something he couldn’t define. All he had to do was stay “professional” and get him off. If he played his cards right, he could probably keep the room for the night. A real bed, no matter how grungy the motel was, would be the lap of luxury compared the garbage bags in the alley near the diner or the hard floor of the old furniture factory. 

Through the grimy glass doors Klaus could see the shabby lobby was empty spare for a bored looking, wiry man in his 40s. He vaguely remembered that he was the owner of the establishment. 

“You can wait here if you like – stay warm,” Henry said kindly, leaving the ignition on before heading to the lobby. 

Klaus watched his exchange with the owner. He had a constant air of politeness, likely learned by a sheltered middle-class upbringing. The séance wondered what it was like to be so normal. Even ordinary Vanya had an interesting background growing up in the Academy and all. Henry, on the other hand, reeked of commonness. Still, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It was just different. 

“Alright, all set,” Henry said, knocking Klaus out of his daze of thoughts. 

He drove them to the far side of the motel. Klaus wished he could stay in the warmth of the car, but it was time to get to work. Although Henry hadn’t said what he wanted to pay for Klaus got the sense that he wouldn’t be hesitant to open his wallet. Part of him wished he’d raised his prices on the seemingly unexperienced John. 

Henry shut off the engine after parking and opened his door, cuing Klaus to follow suit. Once outside, Ben was with him again, looking at him with disappointment. Klaus shot him a dirty look and fought off the urge to hiss, not wanting to scare Henry off. 

“Second floor,” the man said with a weak smile. 

And off they went, Klaus following the man up the stairs onto the balconied second level of the motel. A tingle of anxiety ran through him – a product of Ben’s lectures about the potential of eventually being murdered. 

“Down the hatch,” he whispered to himself as he swallowed the 4 Xanax before following this quiet mystery man into the room. 

To be continued…


End file.
